“We’re never going to get a cab.” Gina frowned at the sea of people in front of us. “Aunt Ellen’s place is about a half hour’s walk from here. Shall we hoof it? Are you okay carrying your suitcase?”
“Sure.” I nodded and fell into step beside her.
My tan and brown suitcase, the one I’d had since childhood since I so rarely traveled, was quite light. Gina’s aunt only had room for us for one night, so I’d packed a nightgown, robe, and slippers, some toiletries and a bit of makeup, and a dress to wear out to dinner tonight. That was all. I hoped we could find someplace reasonable to eat. Gina had a good secretarial job with a weekly paycheck, while I was still paying for my education with a bit of help from my mother. Every spare penny I had, and there were not many of them, would go toward my wedding and honeymoon.
My mother hadn’t been at all happy when I told her I was going to Washington with Gina.
“What should I tell Vincent if he calls?” she asked.
“The truth.” I shrugged. “That I’m in Washington with Gina.”
“Don’t you think you should be here if he calls?”
I thought Gina had been right. It was pathetic for me to sit by the phone hour after hour, day after day, on the small chance that Vincent might call. “Mom, it’s nearly impossible for him to get to a phone, so I doubt very much that I’ll hear from him,” I said. “Plus, I’m only going for one night.”
“Well,” she said, “just remember who you are.”
I frowned at her. “What does that mean?”
“Remember you’re a girl engaged to be married to a wonderful man,” she said.
I laughed. “Have a little faith in me, all right?” I said.
“I can see Aunt Ellen’s row house,” Gina said after we’d been walking twenty minutes or so. Her hands were laden down by her handbag and suitcase, so she pointed toward the end of the block with her raised chin. “See it up ahead?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. My shoulder ached from carrying the suitcase despite its light weight, and by the time we reached the tourist home, I was perspiring. Breathing hard, we set our suitcases on the sidewalk and looked up at the three-story brownstone squeezed between two larger buildings. It was a pretty house with a bay window on each level and stone garlands near the roofline. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to tackle the long flight of stairs to the front door, but after a minute, I picked up my suitcase and headed up the walk, Gina close behind me. We were both out of breath by the time we reached the small stone porch. An envelope taped to the doorbell was addressed to Gina. She tore it open and read out loud.
Dear Gina, I’m distressed to tell you that I need to go to my house in Bethesda to deal with a burst pipe. I tried to reach you at home but you’d already left. I’m beside myself that I’m leaving you and your friend alone, but it can’t be helped. The two of you come in and make yourselves at home. You’ll each have a room to yourself (2 and 3 at the top of the stairs)—amazing this time of year, so enjoy the privacy! There are good locks on the doors and the two businessmen seem very nice. I’m sure they won’t disturb you. If you need anything, call. The phone is on a table by the stairs. Sorry I’ll miss seeing you this trip! Much love, Aunt Ellen.
Gina looked at me over the top of the note. “So much for our chaperone.” She laughed. Gina’s aunt had been reluctant to let us come because she had two male boarders staying with her. I never mix men and women, she’d told Gina. It’s not appropriate. Gina had talked her into it. “You’ll be there,” she’d said to her aunt on the phone, rolling her eyes at me as I listened to her end of the conversation. “You can be our chaperone.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said now, unconcerned. My mother would have a fit if she knew.
Gina pulled open one of the double doors and we walked into a small, cozy living room. We set down our suitcases and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light after the bright sunshine outside. The air held the delicious sweet aroma of pipe tobacco, a scent I’d always associated with the father I’d lost so young. I remembered the scent better than I remembered him.
“Hi, fellas,” Gina said, and only then did I notice the two men sitting in leather Queen Anne chairs near the fireplace. They stood when they saw us, nodding in our direction. One of them, the older of the two, offered a slight bow.
“Welcome, ladies,” he said, bending over to stub out a cigarette in the ashtray by his chair. His smile was warm and welcoming. He was probably close to forty with thick hair, nearly black, bushy eyebrows, and a thin dark mustache. He’d loosened his tie and the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. “One of you must be Mrs. Foley’s niece,” he said. With those few words, I could already place his hard New York accent.
Gina smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a manner I could only think of as flirtatious. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Gina and this is Tess.”
“And I’m Roger Talbot and this is Henry…” He raised his eyebrows at the other man, obviously not knowing—or recalling—his name.
“Henry Kraft,” the second man said with a nod. “How do you do?” His voice was a silky drawl, and he had a scrubbed-clean look about him. His light brown hair was neatly cropped, his build tight and lean. Unlike Mr. Talbot, he was dressed for business in a gray suit that fit him to a T. I knew little about men’s clothing. You rarely saw a suit in Little Italy and I knew Vincent owned only one. Nevertheless, I had the feeling that Henry Kraft’s suit was expensive and tailored just for him. His shirt was a light gray pinstripe and his blue tie was perfectly knotted at his throat. On the end table next to him, a curl of fragrant smoke rose from his pipe. He looked closer to our age than the other man. Late twenties, I guessed. Even from where we stood, I could see the pale blue of his eyes. I could see, too, that his smile didn’t reach them. Those eyes had the slightest downward cast to them and I imagined there wasn’t a smile broad enough in the world to lift the sadness I saw in that handsome face.
“Hey!” Mr. Talbot took a step toward our suitcases. “Let us carry them up for you.”
“Oh, would you?” Gina said in a saccharine voice I’d never heard her use before. Was she flirting? “We carted them all the way from Union Station and our arms are about to fall out of their sockets.”
Mr. Kraft started toward us as well, but Mr. Talbot held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve got both,” he said gallantly. He finished crossing the room in a few swift steps, then lifted our suitcases as if they were made of cotton and marched ahead of us up the stairs. We followed him to the second story, where he set down the suitcases outside the door to room number 3. He turned to face us.
“Hope to see you ladies again later,” he said, with a nod. “How long are you in town?”
“Just for the night,” I said.
“And you?” Gina asked. “My aunt said you’re here on business?”
“Securing a government contract, same as that gentleman down there.” He nodded toward the stairs. “Mr. Kraft. He’s in the furniture trade in North Carolina. Southern boy.” He said the word “Southern” in a way that let us know he thought himself better than the man downstairs. “He already has a contract with Uncle Sam and is hoping to expand on it. I’m in textiles and was getting a few tips from him.”
“Ah well,” Gina said. “Good luck.”
The man turned to face me. “You’re a bit of a quiet one, aren’t you?” he said, and I simply smiled. “Still waters run deep,” he added. “I bet there’s plenty going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said, and I moved past him toward the door.
We went into our separate rooms—Gina in 2, me in 3—as Mr. Talbot walked heavily back down the stairs. My very spare room had two twin beds, a four-drawer dresser, and a sink jutting from the wall next to a narrow closet. I hung up the dress I’d packed for dinner and was tucking my nightgown beneath the pillow of my bed when Gina knocked on the door and poked her head inside.
“Come on!” she said. “Let’s explore!”
* * *
The weather was perfect, the air fragrant and golden from the leaves that were beginning to turn. We walked our legs off, the streets crowded with military men and government girls. We spent hours in the Freer and the National galleries. Some exhibits were closed, as the art had been moved out of the city due to the war, but we still managed to exhaust ourselves. So much reminded me of Vincent. His dark eyes stared out at me from a seventeenth-century painting and I thought I spotted him in one of the galleries, studying a sculpture of a horse. I considered finding a pay phone and calling my mother to see if he might have called, but I knew that would annoy Gina and only leave me more depressed than I already was.
My heels were blistered by the time we headed back to the tourist home, and we both seemed too tired to talk. We were a block away from the house when Gina suddenly spoke up.
“What did you think of those two fellas in Aunt Ellen’s living room, huh?” she asked.
I shrugged. “They seemed nice,” I said. It did strike me as a bit odd now that we were sharing a house with two men for the night.
“I think that one—Henry—had eyes for you.”
I laughed. “I’m engaged, remember?” I wiggled my ring finger with its small but sparkling diamond in front of her face.
“Which is not the same as married,” she said. She stopped walking and tipped her head to study my face. “I don’t think you know how pretty you are, Tess,” she said as she started walking again. “How men look at you.”
“What? That’s crazy,” I said, though I couldn’t help but be flattered. When it came right down to it, I knew very few men and had no idea how they saw me. Vincent had been the only man I ever dated. He told me all the time that I was beautiful, but I assumed he was looking through the eyes of love. I knew I didn’t look like the average girl. I thought my eyes were too big, too round for the rest of my features, but Vincent always said he loved getting “lost” in them. While I rued how long it took my hair to dry after I washed it and how unruly it was when I struggled to style it, he said he loved getting his fingers tangled up in it.
I thought of that man, Henry Kraft. His gently handsome face. His sad-looking eyes. “I’ll have to show him my ring,” I said.
“Killjoy,” she said. “Maybe those men can suggest a good place for dinner.”
“I think there are Hot Shoppes in Washington,” I said. “Let’s go there.” I could afford a sandwich and root beer at a Hot Shoppe.
Gina shook her head. “Can’t get a drink at a Hot Shoppe,” she said. “Let’s find someplace more exciting. It’ll be my treat,” she added, and when I started to protest she held up her hand. “When you get your RN license and a job, you can take me out, all right?”
“Fair enough,” I agreed. It would be fun to go someplace different for a change.
We found the two men in the living room again when we reached the tourist home. They stood near the stairs, their fedoras in their hands as though they were getting ready to go out.
“We’re headed to Martin’s for dinner,” Mr. Talbot said. “How about you gals join us?”
“Who’s Martin?” I asked.
Mr. Kraft smiled. “It’s the best restaurant in Georgetown,” he said.
“We have a reservation,” Mr. Talbot added. “I’m sure we can change it from two people to four.”
I was about to politely decline when Gina ran right over me. “We’d love to!” she said, grabbing my hand and nearly dragging me toward the stairs. “Just give us a couple of minutes to change.”
“You have ten,” Mr. Talbot called after us. “Cab’s on its way.”
Upstairs, I followed Gina into her room. “I don’t think we should go out with them,” I said. “It feels wrong. Your aunt would have a fit.”
“She’ll never have to know,” she said, opening the closet and taking out her dress. “Go put on your dress and make it snappy. They’ll buy us a swell dinner at the best restaurant in Georgetown. Are you going to pass that up?” She saw my hesitancy. “It’s not like a date, honey,” she said. “After all, there are four of us. You aren’t going out alone with someone. It’s like four colleagues having dinner together. That’s all.”
* * *
“I insist you gals start calling us by our first names,” Mr. Talbot said as we clambered into the cab. “I’m Roger, remember?”
I sat between him and Gina in the backseat, while Mr. Kraft—Henry—rode in front with the quiet, somber driver. The cab smelled of cigars and Gina’s perfume, a dab of which I’d put behind my ears since I hadn’t brought any of my own. I was stifling in my coat and gloves. Henry was quiet as the taxi made its way through the clogged streets to Georgetown, but Roger filled the air of the cab with his booming voice, telling us how he once saw Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn at Martin’s. On another occasion, he said, he spotted Senator Harry Truman sitting at the next table.
“Did you talk to either of them?” Gina leaned forward to speak past me.
“No, though I certainly tried to listen in on their conversations,” he said. He went on to talk in detail about every meal he’d eaten at Martin’s and I began to think we were in for a very long evening.
Martin’s wasn’t what I expected. It was more tavern than the posh restaurant I’d anticipated. The walls and the long bar were made of dark, polished wood, the tin ceiling was a bronze color, and there were far more male diners than female. I felt slightly overdressed and out of place. We were led to a wooden booth and Gina and I sat on one side, Roger and Henry on the other.
When the waiter arrived at our table, Roger ordered drinks for all of us. “Spytinis all around,” he told the middle-aged man.
“What on earth is a spytini?” Gina giggled at the name. She pulled a cigarette from the case in her handbag.
“Martin’s special martinis,” Roger said. He leaned across the table to light Gina’s cigarette, then lit one of his own. “A spy who used to dine here loved the martinis, so they changed the name. You’ll love them, too,” he added.
I’d never had a martini and would have preferred a glass of wine, but decided to give the drink a try. This was a night of firsts and I’d be adventurous. Besides, I had the feeling few people argued with Roger Talbot.
As we waited for our drinks, Roger and Gina talked nonstop about politics while Henry and I quietly observed. I had no idea Gina knew a thing about the war or what was going on in the world. At one point, Henry caught my eye and winked. Not a flirtatious wink, no. It was a wink that said, You and I are the quiet ones and that’s fine. Let these two talk their heads off. It felt a bit conspiratorial and I smiled back at him, suddenly liking him.
Our pretty spytinis were delivered and Roger raised his in a toast. “To the lovely ladies from Baltimore,” he said. “May they thoroughly enjoy their stay in the nation’s capital.”
“Thank you,” Gina said, and we all took a sip.
“Oh my,” I said, my cheeks on fire, my throat ice cold, and the men laughed. I took another sip, fascinated by the taste. All their eyes were on me. “It tastes like, I don’t know…” I sipped again, licking my lips. “Salt and spice. And pine trees,” I said, and the three of them chuckled.
“I think Tess has a new favorite drink,” Gina said.
“Careful now, Tess,” Roger said. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, and I raised my glass to my lips once more.
It wasn’t until Henry lifted his own glass again that I noticed he was missing three fingers on his left hand. The sight was so jarring, I had to quickly turn my head away, my heart giving a double thump in my chest. His thumb and forefinger were intact, but the other three fingers were gone, right down to the smooth knuckles of his hand. What had the poor man been through? Did he lose them as an adult or a child? I’d wondered why he wasn’t in the military. Now it was clear, and his sad eyes made more sense to me.
Roger sudde
nly seemed to notice my own hands and he leaned across the table to grab my left, holding it by the fingers so that my ring sparkled in the overhead light.
“Well, what’s this?” he inquired, lifting my hand a couple of inches from the table. “You’ve got a fella?”
“Yes,” I said, gently pulling my hand from his grasp.
“Overseas?” he asked.
I shook my head. “He’s a doctor volunteering with the polio epidemic in Chicago.” I felt my cheeks color with pride.
“A doctor!” Roger said. “He’s a fool to let you go running around unchaperoned, beautiful girl like you. Ain’t she a lovely one?” he asked Henry, who nodded.
“They’re both lovely,” Henry said diplomatically.
“I’d love to see that beautiful hair of yours down,” Roger said. “How long is it?”
“Long enough,” I said coyly. I took another sip of the spytini and felt the icy heat of the drink spread through my chest and work its way into my arms, all the way to my fingertips. I took one more delicious sip before I set the glass down.
“Her hair is a few inches below her shoulders,” Gina answered for me. “And her fiancé loves it, so don’t get any ideas. Plus, she’s a nurse, so they’re a perfect couple.”
“Certainly sounds like it,” Roger said. “Your fiancé’s a lucky man.” He leaned away from the table as the waiter set another round of spytinis in front of us even though we hadn’t yet finished the first.
“So,” I said to the men as the waiter walked away. I wanted to get the topic off myself. “You’re both here to negotiate contracts with the government. That must be very challenging.”
All three of them looked at me as though I’d spoken a foreign language, but then Henry responded.
“My family’s factory in Hickory—that’s in North Carolina—has built fine furniture for nearly half a century,” he said. “But the last couple of years, we’ve shifted our efforts to producing material for the war effort.” It was lovely, listening to him talk. I’d only heard a Southern accent on the radio. It was much more charming in person.
The Stolen Marriage Page 3